


To the light of my life, i.e. the twitchy elf with a permanent scowl and a sword bigger than him

by Sattar



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Sarcasm, making fun of each other is a sign of love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sattar/pseuds/Sattar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letters from the Skyhold, where Hawke and Fenris spend 60% of time trying to find out who can insult the other one more ridiculously, 35% - making fun of bad situations and 5% - being helpless romantics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for a tumblr prompt:)
> 
> It was also translated to Russian by Эlиs https://ficbook.net/readfic/3246293

To the light of my life, i.e. the twitchy elf with permanent scowl and a sword bigger than him.

You have *got* to join me here as soon as possible, for I worry every day that the nuttiest folk here will get themselves killed before you can meet them and finally appreciate what sane and comfortable surroundings I am providing for you. Then maybe you’ll stop your constant and completely unwarranted complaining about my supposedly obnoxious life choices. Darling, you do not know what obnoxious even means until you’ve met these people. I’m not even going to describe it to you, I want to see your face when you meet them unprepared, in your sheltered ignorance, spoiled by my rational sensibility. And I want you to remember how you rolled your eyes at me RIGHT NOW, yes, I can *feel* your eyeroll, so you can be appropriately ashamed later.      

Okay, I will give the smallest of examples so you can start appreciating me right now. What did we use to get to places? Horses. Nice, perfectly normal, pleasantly sounding horses. Stables *there* have harts. And it’s still the sane part, I’m only mentioning it because I wasn’t aware that there are purplish deer. And they are making really terrible screeching sounds. First time I’ve heard it, I thought a demon possesed the poor animal and it’s turning into an abomination, but the Inquisitor assured me it’s normal. She said it makes this sound every time it gallops (I’m worried for the Inquisitor, by the way, she has this really hollow look in her eyes)

But, again, the screeching deer is okay. It’s nothing compared to the dracolisks. I assume you know what a dracolisk is (since you know everything), but I’m still going to describe it. It’s hide is in bright yellow and blue spots, it’s covered in scales and lumps, and it’s face looks like an unholy offspring of a jackfish and a donkey. And it bleats, like a dying sheep. No, like a dying sheep that is being devoured by an unholy yellow-blue atrocity.

I’ve been there to witness a local Horsemaster’s meltdown when he first saw this thing in his stables. He sat on the ground, clutching his head and staring into distance, while it bleated, and the mind-reading spirit-boy appeared and started declaring “Why, Maker why, why did you create such an abomination, and why would anyone want to ride it, what does it even eat and how do you put a bridle over all these head-spikes”.

(yes, there’s a mind-reading spirit boy here. He doesn’t read thoughts all the time though, he’s only drawn to people in the moments of their deepest anguish and then he narrates it out loud to the whole world. He calls it “compassion”. The Inquisitor says it got better though, because before he was just killing people to spare them from suffering.)

But oh wait, there’s more! There are *giant nugs*. Yes, you’ve read it right and no, I haven’t been drinking. I’m not even able to describe it. A sight of a qunari riding a giant nug is something everyone has to experience for themselves. (Have I told you that there’s a qunari spy? He’s a giant shirtless qunari and the first thing he said to me was “Hi, I’m the Iron Bull, do you know that I’m a Qunari spy?” And you called Tallis incompetent.)

How are you, by the way? I’m not naive enough to ask if you eat and sleep properly, for your self-negligence is even bigger than your stubbornness, but at least I dare to harbor a tiny hope that you didn’t manage to get ill and you’re treating any possible injuries right. Also, I hope you’re taking care of the magnificent expanses of your eyebrows. I miss them dearly. I have daily dreams of raking my hands through them, up to my elbows, as they are gently fluttering under the spring breeze.

How is Rex? Don’t give him cookies no matter how cute he looks, sweets are bad for dogs!  Please kiss him for me, as it seems out of two of you he’s the only one eager to meet me again. But it’s okay, I guess I’ll just wait there, lonely and longing for affection, surrounded by the crowds of attractive people. Your call. Have I told you about Seeker Cassandra? Apparently she’s my big fan. She asked me to sign Varric’s book and blushed adorably when I asked about the hole stabbed through the cover.  So I don’t know how long the vision of the eyebrows can hold me, maybe soon I will give in and fall into her muscular arms. At least in contrast to *some people*, she’s sensible enough to wear a helmet.

Yours (presently, might be Seeker Cassandra’s soon if you keep neglecting me)

Erica Hawke, on top of hot people mountain.

P.S. sending red scarves as you requested, three for reserve, in case you keep tearing them. Can’t have you being seen without it on your wrist, what an indecency.

P.S.S. come on, Fenris, there’s also a great library, and I’ll even shoo the “not-all-magisters” doof out of it for you.


	2. Chapter 2

To Erica Hawke, on top of a pile of ugly rideable animals. **  
**

I’m glad that if nothing else, at least you’re getting educated on subject of biology from your involvement with the Inquisition. I’m sure there will be more uncommonly looking mounts whose specific adaptational benefits you don’t understand for you to make fun of their innocent existence.

Thank you for the scarves. It’s useful to be able to glance at any moment at my wrist and see the proof that I did not just dream you up, that you do in fact exist somewhere, even if far away and apparently flirting with everyone you meet. Seeker Cassandra, really? I’m not sure she has enough patience for this burden. Is she ready to be woken up by you screaming “Shut up, motherhuggers, I’m gonna call the guards!” at the singing birds? Can she handle her bed being set on fire, because you practiced juggling fireballs? Is she prepared to deal with eruptions of increasingly bad and indecent puns every time you learn a new spell (especially with her being religious, because I believe Sebastian never truly recovered from your “Maker fisting” phase) And most of all, how will she respond to you doing the exact foolish thing she advised you not to do and then all of the terrible consequences she told you would happen, happening?

I’m actually fine, Erica, honestly, there weren’t even that many fights. Though I confess I almost forgot how it feels to have to deal with some of nature’s… inconveniences without your magic. I felt almost betrayed first few times when campfire started dying out or rain fell on me. Not to mention that heating up water everyday seems straight up barbaric. So I do appreciate what comfortable (if not sane) surroundings you were providing for me. Believe me, there’s nothing I would want more than to be by your side right now, even if by your other side there are privacy-violating spirits, qunari spies and magisters in denial. Though it seems you’re actually expecting someone else. I do not have “magnificent expanses of eyebrows” nor do they “flutter under spring breeze”. I suspect you’re mistaking my face for Varric’s chest. How is he holding up, by the way?

Rex is fine, but he misses you. I was thinking about setting something random on fire to remind him of you, but decided against it eventually. And I know how to take care of our dog, Erica, can you please stop pretending this warhound is in mortal danger just because I gave him one cookie six years ago?

I find the fact that you spent most of the letter complaining about your sudden zoological phobias and wrote precisely nothing about your own state of being highly suspicious. Why aren’t you telling me how are you? Something went bad, I know it. Did you caught the glowing mark disease? Just tell me what happened, I’m not even going to get mad, I promise, I just need to know what we’ll have to deal with.

I do hope you’re not thinking about trying to feel guilty about the whole Corypheus ordeal though. It was beyond foolish decision on Wardens part - both using blood magic and keeping it secret. Perhaps a little warning somewhere near the seals would be helpful - something like “We locked this thing because it cannot be killed and we’re too incompetent to find out how to do it.”

Yours, as always

Fenris.

P.S. I’m anxious to promise anything definitive, but it seems that I will be able to depart soon if everything goes fine.

P.P.S. It’s “Post Post Scriptum”, Erica, not “Post Scriptum Scriptum”. I’m not asking you to correct yourself for my sake, of course. But what if during your exchange of correspondence with some passionate fans they found out that their Champion is, in fact, illiterate? Wouldn’t it be a tragedy for you to miss out some muscular arms because of this nuisance?

P.P.P.S. Sunrises feel false without you. Please take care, I’m dreading to imagine having to live in a world so dim.


	3. Chapter 3

To the one and only Fenris “No We Are Not Thinking Up a Cool Last Name For Me Hawke” Thunderscowl

Darling, I’m okay, please don’t worry. I didn’t write about how I’m doing because I’m just not doing much. I don’t even get involved in anything dangerous. Mostly I’m helping the sick and injured and headbutting with the local surgeon, who thinks that magical healing should stay out of the way of her medicine. I’m trying to communicate that “Sweetie, I spent six years arguing about positive use of magic with a guy way more stubborn than you are and now he’s wearing my crest on his hip and my bitemarks on his everything”, but to no avail. (No, I’m not flirting with her, I swear, don’t get paranoid)

Of course I’m not going to feel guilty about Corypfus. Angst and self-loathing is your specialization anyway, one brooder is more than enough for a family. Varric is feeling guilty though. “If I haven’t led you there, nothing would happen.” For what I tell him very reasonably - two things could happen: a) I’d be fighting off assassins for the rest of my life and that would really give you an early podagra b)more realistically, I’d get killed eventually and Coryficus would be unleashed all the same, but also have an army of mad dwarf assassins.

Regarding the fluttering expanses: I haven’t seen you for so long, my memory’s fading. Do you have four purple eyes or three? All I remember for sure is a ruffled white mop and disapprovingly furrowed black massives of the judging eyebrows. Anyway, what right do you have to complain? I spent a whole paragraph writing you praises in the best style of “Swords and Shields” and what do I get in return? (btw, Varric just wrote the next book in the series and I hear it is *horrendous*, so seriously, get here soon so we can mock-read it) So, What Did I Get In Return For My Romantic Passionate Compliments, An Incomplete List:

\- not-so-subtle insinuation that I’m somehow bullying the atrocities that Inquisition uses as mounts. One of the “innocent” dracolisks tried to chew my robe yesterday! It would probably chew me with the robe if I didn’t get away.

\- an open admission that you’re only with me for my magic. I knew you only care for my bubble bathes and me flying you stuff across the room when you’re too lazy to get up. We poor mages only get exploited.

\- I can’t believe you have the gall to criticize my bedroom habits. First of all, it’s not “setting bed on fire”, it’s “bringing excitement and adventure into bedroom”. It’s also kinky, look it up. (apparently Varric told everyone that I’m a pyromaniac and want to be a dragon, so the Qunari spy asked me to “roleplay”. Ugh.)

Secondly, need I remind you that you keep reading books waaay past bedtime AND shove your elbow into my face? And then when I wake up in confusion, you rant at me about whatever issues and inaccuracies you found in a book I didn’t read?

By the way, the Tevinter guy was going on about Imperium’s invaluable history, so I told him your passage about it being built on colonialism and appropriation, and even his moustache bristled. It was fun and the Inquisitor bought me a drink. She also complained that he keeps throwing books down the stairs and they hit the elf apostate. So Lavellan asked if I could think of something to stop this, because books are very valuable and shouldn’t be treated like that. So I, in my endless creativity, devised a genius trap with my force magic - now when he throws a book, it flies back, opens and smashes in his face. If he tries to dodge, it changes trajectory. If he tries to run, it follows. See what happens when you leave me without supervision for a month - I revolutionize modern magical warfare.  

The Inquisitor was very impressed and sent me Sera “as an apprentice to train in pranks and unleash on Solas”. Sera is an elven rogue archer who doesn’t like elves and runs a regional network of “Red Jenny”. I tried to ask her about how it works, because this organization sounds fascinating, but she just started spazzing out and screaming “It’s simple it’s really simple stop asking it’s simple simple simple!!!”

I’m kinda sceptical about this, because her idea of pranks is putting a basket with water over the door. Can you believe it? The most primitive prank possible! Absolutely no imagination or creative spark! Carver tried to do this when he was thirteen and I made fun of him for years after. Actually, her vocabulary seems fitting for thirteen years old - it consists mainly of “shite”, “ass”, “fart” and “poop.”

Oh well. I decided to start with simple target - changing color of Cullen’s furry coat. Remember the Templar lieutenant who told me “Mages are not people like you and me” three minutes after I was throwing fireballs right in front of him? Yeah, he’s a Commander of the forces now or something. And he’s got a coat that looks like old red drapery with feathery boa sewed over. I suppose all that time of repressing his primal urges in Templars left scars.

By the way, I wanted to ask you something. There’s a guy from Tevinter, his name is Krem, and there’s one… really weird thing about him? And everyone around acts like it’s nothing special, so I’m afraid to ask, because what if it’s normal in Tevinter and I just don’t know? So I decided to ask you first. Okay, so, he… stands on a stool sometimes? In the middle of a tavern? And everyone ignores it. Is it, like, a local custom in the Imperium? I mean, you never stand on stools, so I wouldn’t think so, but then again, you don’t do many things normal people do, like not growing mushrooms in your house, so I decided to make sure. Other than that, he’s a really nice guy! I was actually surprised at how nice he is, because my experience with people from Tevinter (blood mage slavers, Dorian, you) led me to believe that everyone here is a jerk. Guess not, huh!

Okay, hug Rex for me. Then get your ass here and hug me for Rex.  Please take care!

P.S.S.S.S.S.S. I know how to write P.S., I did it on purpose, because I knew you’re gonna rant, you snob!

P.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S. I miss you so much, too. S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S. S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.S.


	4. Chapter 4

To Erica Hawke, who’s better be ready to change her own last name to Thunderscowl if she wants to stick it to other people

****I congratulate you on being so professionally ridiculous that people give you apprentices. I will be very proud when you finally open a clown academy and my name goes down in history as a victim of the most of your pranks. Your archer pupil sounds colorful, but are you sure this is what her vocabulary actually consists of? Maybe this is how she talks only around you. I can personally testify that you provoke… very heated reactions.

Templar lieutenant as a commander of the forces? Hm, I wouldn’t think that Templar training gives a lot of expertise on commanding the armies, given that Templars are essentially prisoners and bodyguards, specialized for magic resistance in close quarters. In any case, let me guess - you’re going after the feathers, right? It’s somewhat amusing that you’re enthusiastically associate yourself with the hawkes, yet hate feathers used in clothing so viciously.     

I am not aware of any cultural tradition that involves standing on any kind of furniture, sorry. Have you thought that there could be a correlation with his niceness? Perhaps it’s a universal secret  sign of nice people that allows them to recognize each other in a crowd. That would explain why you also don’t know anything about it. I suggest you to try standing on a stool yourself, and if he doesn’t know you well yet, he could fall for the ruse and reveal this secret to you.

Right now we’re travelling by sea, on Isabela’s ship. She calls herself an “Admiral” on account of having acquired a huge hat. I have no idea how she manages to keep it on with the winds here, but I suspect the glue is involved. There’s also that Antivan assassin who tried to seduce you into the bushes. After three days of listening to “emerald shining” and literally every one of my bodyparts being described as “chiseled”, I started to suspect he’s possessed by a particularly tasteless desire demon. But then Isabela confessed that they made a bet for fifty gold that he’ll manage to impress me with a compliment before the end of the trip. Now we’re arguing over how to split the winnings. Isabela claims that I owe her ten gold pieces for the Wicked Grace back in Kirkwall, but I distinctly remember you saying that you’ve dealt with it. Please clear this out, because I suspect she’s trying to cheat.

Food ration consists exclusively of seafood, so I have an unique opportunity to diversify my general disgust for fish into 37 specific types of hatred. Don’t worry about Rex, I got him supply of dried meat, but, sadly, not enough for myself. Though probably Rex would be fine anyway, because all sailors adore him and give him food, most of which he brings to me. I think he tries to feed me.

Another wonderful thing is that, of course, we only have enough of freshwater to drink and bathing is unheard of. And seawater, while technically removing the dirt, leaves you covered in a thick crust of salt so you literally creak when you walk. Sometimes I wake up in the night, convinced that I’m still on the run, hiding on a random ship, and Kirkwall was just an elaborate dream.

Of course, it all is not the end of the world, and our trip from Kirkwall was worse in some aspects, such as having only half of the crew due to emergency departure.  So it’s all could be tolerable, if you were here. To provide bubble bathes and fly things across the room, of course. Anyway, I suggest you enjoy your freedom of movement while you can, because  when we finally meet, I won’t let you go for approximately forever. I don’t care if they kick us out into the stables for inappropriate behavior, I can deal with your scary dracolisks if needed.  

I’m sorry that this letter consists mostly of me complaining and missing you, since I know it’s not really in your nature, but nothing happens here.  The only thing that provides amusement for myself is watching the assassin trying to come up with compliments, when I currently look, as you’ve eloquently put it, as a mop, though not as much white and ruffled, as grey and used. Sailors keep asking me to do the “glowy hand trick”, because one of them read Varric’s book and it convinced him that I stick hands into people’s chests on a daily basis. There are *volunteers*. To get a hand into their chests. I will never understand the human nature.

Thank you, for staying out of danger. It's really the most important thing for me, knowing you're safe.

Yours as always,

Fenris, _as always thinking about you, alone, naked and far away from all the fun, while my oiled abs glisten and throw blinks around, like a lighthouse of angst and sexual frustration to guide you home_

_Hey birdy! Bet you didn’t see that coming, but here I am, your favorite pirate queen, ready to bring excitement into your dull correspondence! But seriously, I expected to find dirty letters and instead it’s just Fenris complaining about everything and you two insulting each other, like I didn’t have to watch it for six years already._

_I think it’s perfectly fair that I get bigger share of the bet’s winnings, because I contributed so much more to the case. Without me there wouldn’t be any money to share. I had to masterfully catch a right moment in Zev’s bragging to tell that Fenris was poisoned by you for so long that he now could be seduced only by the terrible puns (which is true, by the way) Then, I had to rally Zev up about this “challenge” and make it look natural. Also, apparently last time Zev met you, he flirted with you, but when he tried to “innocently take Hawke to bed”, he was threatened with bodily harm. So I had to talk my ass off to convince him that Fenris only gets murderous when someone tries to get in your pants and is, in fact, indifferent about his own._

_And all that Broody has to do is to sit here, looking sour, which he’s doing all the time anyway, so clearly, I’ve done most of the work. And by the way, I call myself Admiral because I *am* the Admiral, but my new hat is fabulous and you’re gonna love it!_

_Also, my crew repeatedly asked me to tell you how much they were impressed with your “magic skills”, such as creating water, summoning winds and juggling fireballs. Now everyone is convinced that a mage is a very valuable asset on the ship. You have a standing offer to join the crew, because I managed to explain that not every mage is a trained elementalist of your level. You liked sea travel, right? I know Broody is not much of a sea wolf (get it?), but he could wait on the shore, raising children and writing maudlin letters. It’s very romantic, I hear._

_Speaking of which, Maker’s breath, woman, get him a crest with decent fastenings! He had to change into ship-appropriate clothes, so of course, his weird belt couldn’t fit into a normal pants and the crest wouldn’t hang on a normal belt. It was agonizing to watch him struggling to keep this thing in place. Mate, let go, your sappy lovey-dovey romance is not gonna crumble if you don’t wear this stupid thing for few days in the middle of a sea. My guys were offering him to make the same tattoo, but noo-o. Fortunately for him, I finally found some straps that managed to keep it from falling off every five minutes. Don't thank me for saving your sentimental cucumber, I’m just a helper by nature._

 

_WAIT I just had a thought and I had to re-steal the letter for this, but I have to ask! Is there really happening what I think is happening? Because if so, I cannot believe you guys, it’s so cheesy, even Varric would be ashamed to put it in his book. TELL ME IT’S REALLY HAPPENING_


	5. Chapter 5

_Letter for the Admiral Isabela with the biggest hat and longest nose on the ship!_

Hi, Izzy! Let me assure you that I totally saw this coming, because the letter was covered in doodles of dicks, boobs, butts and all combinations of them. Not only I know for sure that Fenris doesn’t have an artistic talent for that, but also I can’t mistake your unique style for anything, since I had a pleasure of seeing it for years on pages of my personal journal.

First of all, Izzy, you should write your own letter as you’ve promised, instead of barging into someone else’s when the presence of my ill-tempered bundle of sunshine reminds you of my existence.

About the bet: you absolutely do not have any right for the bigger share of the winnings. You didn’t have to talk your ass off to convince him that Fenris only gets murderous when someone tries to get in my pants, you just walked up to him, said some innuendo and he ignored it, which was happening for six damn years, who do you think you’re bullshiting here.

And yes, you’ve guessed right, this correspondence is, in fact, secretly coded dirty letters. Good luck breaking the cipher! (a hint: “dracolisk” means “wet”)

Also, my puns are not stupid. they are exquisite! And you’re the one to talk (apostitues, Izzy, are not forgotten.) Say hi to Zevran for me, I was gonna ask Fenris, but I don’t think he will.

**_!End of the letter for Isabela, Isabela should stop reading and leave all other papers alone! _ **

* * *

_ If you think that Erica Hawke doesn’t have guts to do anything, you are dead wrong. I *would* change my last name to Thunderscowl if you did. Actually, I’m generous and won’t insist on “Thunderscowl” if you don’t like it so much, so you can think up the one you like. Or just, you know, use mine, it’s pretty neat already. _

 

Now, Fenris, what do you think can change the nature of a man? Existential despair, abstract moral concepts, boring, boring, boringboringboring. Okay, now that Izzy should have fallen asleep already, darling, what the fuck is wrong with you? What does “I know it’s not really in your nature” supposed to mean? Of course I miss you!

First of all, I am now ridden with terrible anxiety all the time without your ever-present judgemental glare, for how, without you disapproving me and listing all possible consequences of my actions, from possible blood mage escaping to all Archdemons arising at once, am I supposed make any decisions? I often freeze in the middle of doing something, like a deer in the light spell, and stand there in an awkward pose, lost and confused, because what will I do if something terrible happens and you’re not here to roll your eyes and say “I told you so”? Because being heroic might be my responsibility, but I’m yours responsibility, which allows me to absolve any feelings of guilt and duty and continue to be a carefree doofus.    

Also, I’m tired of being cool all the time. Varric really did me a disservice of convincing everyone I’m the coolest ever. I miss being draped all over you in undignified poses and showing affection in acting vaguely assholish, like a spoiled over-demanding cat of the Orlesian noble. Everyone here either buys all the bullshit I’m spewing and believes I’m a clown, or doesn’t buy it, which is worse, because then they start to seek for my hidden motives or tragic vulnerabilities that I’m obviously hiding “behind the mask of humor.” Duh.

So it’s good that not many people here know who I am. Because they have no idea what I look like, haha. I mean, even this statue they have of me in Kirkwall is like, a set of heavy ARMOR holding a flaming SWORD, so fire is the only thing that has anything to do with me, you know, being a mage and never using armor or swords in my entire life. And thankfully, Varric sucks at descriptions, which is why the Seeker couldn’t find find for years. Not even her fault, because all Varric wrote basically is - dark hair, red stripe over the nose and Champion armor. So when I just go around in normal clothes, no one knows who I am. I don’t even have to lie about my name, because Varric called me “Hawke” all the time in the book, so I just go “Hey, how are you, I’m Erica, a healer from Ferelden, I’m dating the hottest ass this side of the Veil and it’s this side only because in the Fade there are demons literally made of lava.” So, actually, you’re my only weakness, because first, you’ve got pretty damn distinct description, and second, I’ve gotta brag to everyone, I just have to, I don’t make the rules.

That said, I’m so sorry for terrible conditions you have to endure. When you get there, I’ll make you as many bubble baths as you want. I also will ask kitchen to make the over-spiced Tevinter dishes that you love. And I’ll forbid any fish dishes *for everyone*. No fish in the general vicinity at all, doesn’t it sound good?

But you might ask, my dear adorable Erica, while you are incredibly resourceful and astonishingly charismatic, how are you capable of forbidding fish for everyone in Skyhold? No, actually, knowing you, you’d probably ask “I leave you for two months and you’ve already managed to make the stupidest possible deal with the demon?” Well, worry not, someone as talented and amazing as me doesn’t need demons. It is because the Inquisitor owes me one! She came up to me lately and said that she needs something done to Solas right now, because he talks shit about Dalish. So, this Solas, who’s by the way a total snob and not in a fun way, hangs out on the first floor of the tower and his room for some reason has a hole in a ceiling, which goes all the way up to where Leliana keeps her ravens. You know me, I’m all for the challenge, but personally, I wouldn’t pick a room with a direct route for bird shit over my head. The dude keeps a barrier over his room, but still - it’s pretty gross to have layer of bird shit hanging over your head, I think. Anyway, what I did was:

*ruined his barrier

*while he was standing right under it

*while Lavellan was in the room and watched and took credit for this.

For each of these points Lavellan said she owes me, so now I have: a room with a private little pool (bubble baths!) and a king-sized Orlesian bed (because Lavellan blackmailed the Empress and now we get Orlesian stuff for free). And there’s still one favour left, so I can spend it on forbidding fish! See how cool and important pranks are? They let you get political power! Maybe I should become prankassin? It’s like assassin, but for pranks!

Considering feathers - I’m not against them on principle, but sadly, they can very easily transform just about any outfit into a tacky fashion monstrosity, unless handled with absolutely impeccable taste. Speaking about impeccable taste and lack of thereof, this Sera tried to prank me. With a smelly bag that makes fart noises when you sit on it, can you imagine? I’m a Force mage, when I want something to stay confined in place, it stays there, no matter if it’s smelly gas or six dudes in heavy armor. So I stand up like nothing happened and of course she runs up to my chair to check why her genius plan didn’t work and that’s when I release the spell, so she gets a steam of fart gas in her face. That’s what you get for questioning my prank supremacy, muhaha!

Sera likes alchemy, so I decided to let her use her talents creatively for once and make a paint for Cullen’s feathers. Colors is for her to decide, but the main condition - paint should be of the delayed activation, so it’s invisible at first and only becomes apparent later, when he’s making orders in front of the soldiers. I’m a strategy genius, I know. You should be grateful that I never did anything like that to you, even though you provoked me all the time. I am a saint!

So, lately Lavellan went to a party where the Orlesian empress was supposed to be assassinated. She wasn’t though, because they’ve collected halla figurines and found a naked dude tied to her bed or something. It sounded like a hot mess, so I didn’t pay attention, honestly. The important part is that the Inquisitor brought Morrigan to Skyhold and Morrigan is my sister-in-law! Because she’s with Ravyl Amell, who is my cousin (Hero of Ferelden, remember I told you about him?), and they even have a kid. His name is Kieran and he’s adorable, he draws cute pictures and makes creepy prophecies, - you know, the usual kid stuff.

Anyway, Morrigan is awesome and we became friends instantly. She has this right degree of intelligent assholery that I got used to so much from being around you. I mean, I love Varric and all that, but he gets attached easily and then he’s too sweet to be really sarcastic.

There’s a dude who pretends to be a Grey Warden, his name is Blackwall and he’s terrible at lying. You only need to talk to him for about four minutes to realize that he knows next to nothing about Grey Wardens. Inquisitor says that she lets him stay because he’s obviously harmless and because she wants to see how long it’ll take her Spymaster to report on him.  Anyway, Morrigan and I love making fun of him. We show up together and I go, all innocently, “Blackwall, help me! Morrigan won’t tell me how to kill an Archdemon, please explain how you, amazing Grey Warden heroes, do it.” Morrigan stands here, smiling mysteriously, and poor dude starts sweating, because she actually was there when the Archdemon was killed. So he turns red and goes “Well, you just hit him with sticks! A lot. Really big sticks!” It’s amazing, you need to get there before he’s finally exposed and see it yourself.

By the way, do get here quickly, because I might have to leave soon to meet with my Grey Wardens contact for the Inquisition (this dude with a horrendous mustache that we got drunk with that one time in a tavern, when I was buying drinks to celebrate how great my Grey warden cousin is, if you remember.)

S.P.P.S.A.S.S. (this is the new form of Post Scriptum I invented, it means “If you rant about Postscriptum, you’re an ass”. Fancy enough for you?)

P.S.-2 If you don’t have enough faith in me (which I know you don’t) and are currently guessing whether I got it or am I just dickng around, I did. And I’m serious about the last name, your pick. Also, do you want Andrastian vows or what? You know I’m not big about religion, so I’m fine with whatever, as long as it’s not the Qun.


End file.
